The quest for sausages

None of the names in this story are real.

Marion, a very old friend of mine, visited me and we made ourselves tea and fried eggs. When we were done, we still craved more food and we craved sausages in particular. But we did not want to make them. We were already seated comfortably and our eyes scanned the house to find an unwitting individual to somehow fry us sausages.

The maid appeared as she hustled and bustled about her duties and Marion pounced.

“Hello, Jane!”, she greeted her enthusiastically. “How are you?”

“I’m very fine, thank you”, she replied as she picked the item she needed from a counter.

“We would like sausages please”, said Marion politely. I waited with bated breath and a salivating mouth as I prepared my stomach for the sausages.

“But the sausages are in the fridge”, Jane replied.

My stomach settled and the saliva went back. I knew it wasn’t gonna happen. Marion held on to a last vestige of hope.

“The fridge, yes. We were hoping you would fry us sausages”.

Jane did not understand our slowness.

“But the sausages are in the fridge. The oil and gas and saucepans are in the kitchen”. And Jane was gone.

Marion and I stared at each other in defeat. Suddenly my cousin appeared.

My turn.

“Hi Mark! How are you doing?”

“I’m very fine, sister! How are you?”

I ignored his greeting and got to the point of my cunningly connived plan.

“Would you like some sausages Mark?”.

“What kind of sausages are they?”, Mark asked.

Damn, crap and lemony snicket. I forgot he’d converted to Islam.

“Erm, I don’t know”.

Marion didn’t have time for my dithering.

“Mark, we’re looking for someone to make us sausages”.

“And you want me to make you sausages?”, he asked.

“Yes!”, we both replied enthusiastically.

He gave us the same quizzical look Jane had given us, laughed and walked away.

Ah, fuck it.

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